I swirl the last mouthful at the bottom of my bottle. It’s my second of the night, and I’d only ordered it so I’d have something to do with my hands instead of shoving them in my pockets like an unruly ten-year-old. I should have gone with water.
Fuck. Am I turning into Morris?
The thought makes me down the rest of the beer. Then ask the bartender for another one. Just so I don’t wake up in the morning with the urge to go running.
“Armstrong, Armstrong, Armstrong,” Sean repeats, smacking his palm on the bar counter. “That’s all Kennedy would say her freshman year.”
My chest swells, though Kennedy had already admitted she’d been a fan back then.
“I remember that,” says one of Kennedy’s brother-in-laws, waiting in the bar line. Deirdre’s husband. I only remember since beside him is Aileen’s husband, slowly rocking a sleeping infant. “She talked nonstop about football. We thought she and Ashton would be done by Thanksgiving.”
“But nope, he showed up at Christmas and complained that Brigid’s secret Santa gift to him wasn’t expertly woven wool,” Aileen’s husband rolls his eyes.
I duck my head to hide a snort. Get a few drinks in Kennedy’s family, and their real thoughts on her ex start coming out. It almost makes up for the times everyone else had asked about him today.
After ordering a drink, he adds, “Also, Christine told me you’re the one to thank for Kennedy teaching her nieces how to say ‘ass’. You ass.”
He punches my arm with a grin before he and Deirdre’s husband leave. I turn back to Sean, my drinking buddy for the night. I’d barely had a moment alone with Kennedy after the ceremony, torn as she is between her sisters, family, and her nieces. Even now, she lets two little redhead girls lead her about the dance floor. None of them are actually dancing. Just spinning and jumping in the most bizarre game of ring-around-the-rosy, but Kennedy goes with it, laughing when another lock of hair falls from her updo.
I’m mesmerized, then remember I’d been about to ask her dad something. He catches me staring, then smiles as he holds up his glass, twisting it slowly. “I worry about her, Spencer. At school. She’s always been so shy, trailing after her sisters. We didn’t know how she’d do so far from us, even if she had Ashton.”
“Back then, I waited days by the phone for her to call. And the first thing she said to me, when she did call, it wasn’t about her classes, or how she was homesick. She never even said hello.”
He takes a drink, gaze distant with memory. “I almost didn’t hear her at first. I thought she was at one of those out-of-control frat parties. That something had happened, and she wanted to come home already. But then she told me, ‘Dad, I’m watching this game right now, and I’m telling you, you need to keep an eye on this Armstrong guy.’ She called me from a football game. Her first football game, at college, and all she wanted to talk about was you. She said you’re going places.”
He clinks his glass against my bottle. “And now you’re here.”
I don’t respond. I can’t speak. There’s something in my throat. An echo in my ears. A roaring beat in my head that feels like it goes on and on and on.
Almost too quickly, though, it subsides, and I mutter, “Now I’m here.”
A shrill squeal rings through the hall. We wince. One of the bridesmaids fiddles with a microphone until the feedback dies, and as waiters pass out flutes of champagne, she announces it’s time for the first speech.
Sean and I groan in unison. We sit through what feels like a million fucking speeches, from the brides to friends and families and parents. During a record-setting twenty seconds in the spotlight, Sean grants the happy couple a traditional Irish blessing, then encourages everyone to enjoy the free booze he’s paying for.
When at last, Deirdre passes Kennedy the microphone, Sean orders another Guinness, with a sheepish look at me. “Might as well, Spencer. This one will take all night.”
I share a commiserating grin with him. “She made note cards. Possibly an outline.”
None of which are with her now, though, I realize. Kennedy holds a flute glass in one hand, the microphone in the other. She waits a beat, finding me among the crowd. I salute her with my beer, and she raises the flute, just enough to acknowledge me. And the first words out of her mouth—
“A quick hit. That’s the definition for punch.”
I almost spit out the sip I’d taken.
Kennedy notices, her smile beaming a fraction wider. So as not to be distracted by my reaction, she focuses on the brides. “Love is a punch. It hits you, so quickly you don’t have time to realize what even happened. And it keeps punching you. Love keeps you on your toes. It’s unexpected, but you can always count on it to never stop stunning you.”
“That’s like my sister Brigid. She’s unexpected. Always stunning you with what she’ll do next. And Charlotte, I can’t think of anyone else more suited to roll with her punches. I wish you all the best in your marriage, and with my most sincere regards, I welcome you to our family.”
She lifts her glass and everyone toasts before a round of applause. Beside me, Sean’s mouth drops open, the rim of his beer glass barely to his mouth before Kennedy’s speech is over.
I excuse myself, leaving my beer behind. The DJ takes back the microphone, speeches done. As the music starts up again, I weave through the guests making their way back to the dance floor.
Kennedy meets me halfway.
“How’s that for winging it? Not so boring now. And less than one minute—”
I kiss her. A tame kiss. Family appropriate, when what I really want to do is haul her over
